


in stitches

by M0stlyVoid



Series: Kinktober 2020 [10]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Coming Out, Lace Panties, M/M, Money As A Love Language, Presents, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:35:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26940751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M0stlyVoid/pseuds/M0stlyVoid
Summary: Draco's love language is giving presents. Harry's love language is trying out whatever Draco likes. It's working out pretty well so far.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Kinktober 2020 [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948741
Comments: 28
Kudos: 348





	in stitches

**Author's Note:**

> the october 10 prompt for kinktober 2020 is— _panties/lace_.

Draco grew up in a household where money equalled love.

He learned at his father’s knee that the proper way to reward someone for acting appropriately, or to show your gratitude or affection, was a fancy bauble, or a wardrobe refresh, or a valuable piece of property. As he grew older, his own rewards graduated from sweets and time away from his lessons to simply maraud around the grounds of the Manor, to much-cherished time with his father, learning the ins and outs of the business and the accounts and the behind-the-scenes machinations, to his own titles and properties and family heirlooms.

The last _gift_ from Lucius was the Dark Mark; Draco tries not to remember that time, though, prefers to remember his father as he was, as _they_ were, before his second attempt at immortality under the thumb of a psychotic dictator brought their family low and ruined their name. He can’t pretend it didn’t happen, of course; wouldn’t want to, he much prefers the person he is now, but when it comes to his parents, it’s—easier, mostly, to allow his thoughts of them to wander back to his childhood, when he was the beloved prince at the center of a golden kingdom. It’s less difficult, to remember them that way.

Regardless, as much of his former self as he might have shed, as many people he’s managed to win over (by words words and deeds and yes, money; it’s the universal language, and he’s never understood _certain people’s_ aversion to easing their way with cash), as much of a _good citizen_ he is these days (urgh), a tiger can’t totally change its stripes, and so Draco has never quite been able to rid himself of the impulse to shower whoever’s caught his eye most recently with gifts.

At school, it was Pansy, and then Astoria; when the War ended and his familial duties no longer were a yoke around his neck, it was Ronan, then Will, and Edward, and John and Ollie _both,_ and on and on…Draco had a wandering eye after school, he wasn’t ashamed of it no matter what the papers printed and the tiresome Ministry Gryffindor squad whispered behind his back when he was in for meetings.

It isn’t _his_ fault they all married entirely too young and started producing children before they were able to have any proper fun, after all.

Well. All of them, except for Potter, and hadn’t _that_ been a surprise?

Harry had stayed determinedly single for years, attending Ministry events with Luna Lovegood, who had almost as many boyfriends as Draco (once they’d even overlapped on one, and hadn’t _that_ been an amusing discovery) and was always up for a party these days. He would blush and _aw-shucks_ his way out of interactions with women eager to cozy up to him, do the bare minimum of schmoozing his job required, then disappear, leaving Luna to amuse herself for the rest of the night with whoever she’d caught in her net.

Draco had been curious about him, of course—he shamefully read, and then destroyed, the many special _Prophet_ editions about Potter’s perpetual bachelorhood, watching as all his friends paired off and settled down, wondering what on earth Potter was doing with himself.

Until—

It had been the only _Prophet_ issue ever sold with an opaque blocking spell over everything except the main headline, which could only be removed by someone who’d paid the (higher than normal, of course) price and was magically verified to be of age. It had caused a massive scandal, all the society matrons _tsk_ ing and tutting over the _falling standards_ of the paper of record while secreting away their own copies for later perusals.

 **HARRY POTTER CAUGHT IN GAY ASSIGNATION** , with a bloody uncensored photo of him on his knees in front of some Muggle outside a club, and Draco had been fervently grateful he was alone when he removed the blocking spell, because he’d gotten hard so immediately he’d made an incredibly undignified sound.

Potter had taken the forced outing with aplomb, refusing to speak to anyone even remotely connected to the _Prophet_ but willingly chatting up any other reporter who asked, cheerily confirming that yes, he was gay, yes, he always had been, and _yes,_ wasn’t it appalling that his private business had been plastered all over the paper like that, it’s such a _shame_ homosexuality is so stigmatized, could he interest you in more information about this charity or that new organization designed to advance Wizarding society into the future.

It was masterfully done, and had Granger’s fingerprints all over it, and Draco immediately started donating and attending as best he could.

It was an important cause, to be sure, and one that affected him personally (although he was no longer naive enough to not realize how much easier his money made his life), but he was not without ulterior motives—once he knew Harry Potter was on the market, Draco simply had to have him.

It took months, and patience, and a not-insignificant number of hefty donations to Potter’s charities _du jour,_ but here he is, in a _relationship_ of all things with Harry Potter, and to his surprise as much as everyone else’s, he isn’t even close to growing bored and moving on.

Harry seems happy, too; he spends more time than not at Draco’s townhouse, and holds his hand when they go to dinner, and hangs off his neck shouting in his ear and snogging him after good plays when they attend Quidditch matches. He certainly smiles more these days than he had before he came out.

Draco does, too. _Disgusting_ Pansy calls him, but she smiles at him and ruffles his hair when she says it, so he knows she’s happy for him.

Anyway, now that Draco isn’t juggling flings, now that he has actual _feelings_ for someone, he’d almost expected his desire to give gifts to fade—after all, there had always been a bit of a transactional nature to these other relationships that didn’t exist with Harry, so why would he act the same way?

His assumptions are very, _very_ wrong.

He’d tried to limit it, at first, to things like elaborate dinners, and shared weekend travels in sumptuous hotels, and box seats to prime Quidditch events—after all, Harry was his same age, and had his own money besides, and probably wouldn’t appreciate being treated like a toy dangling off Draco’s arm requiring pretty presents to keep him engaged.

But then, there’d be a new modified broomstick with _just enough_ updates to make it different from what Harry already owned, or a suit from Fashion Week that would suit Harry _exactly_ and was a one-of-a-kind item, or a set of cufflinks that would match said suit, or…

Draco’s finally admitted that this is just who he is—he spends money to help show that he cares, and he’s apparently incapable of changing.

To his great delight, Harry seems to _love_ the attention, greeting each offering with a delighted smile and (usually inappropriate for the venue) physical affection. He’s made enough references to his youth that Draco’s gathered he didn’t exactly have the pampered upbringing Draco always imagined him having when he laid awake at night thinking and plotting, and seems genuinely surprised and pleased any time he’s presented with a gift.

So, Draco doesn’t think twice, when he’s out shopping for something for Pansy and passes the lingerie section and sees a set of lace knickers that would suit Harry’s narrow waist and _delectable_ arse perfectly; he buys several, all in pastels that will set Harry’s skin to glowing, especially in the low light of his bedroom, and has them gift-wrapped, and Owls them to Harry’s home with a simple note saying _Saw these and thought of you, D x_ like he has with so many other presents.

It’s not normally a _thing_ of his, his lovers in women’s underwear, but Ronan had worn them for him a time or two, his fey beauty and long hair matching the role he played perfectly, and Draco has come to appreciate them in the right context on the right man—and Harry is nothing if not the right man for Draco to pin all his fantasies on these days.

Harry doesn’t say anything about them when they meet for dinner later, but Draco doesn’t worry—Harry’s never taken offense to anything Draco’s wanted to try before, always eager to dive in enthusiastically and give it a chance. He’s quiet while they eat, eyes hot on Draco and not providing the usual gossip and chatter about his day at the Ministry, and Draco fills the silence with a recounting of his own day and the various meetings he took to advance the next phase of Harry’s charitable efforts.

They go for a walk after they eat, and Draco can’t help but notice that Harry seems—uncomfortable isn’t the right word, but he’s definitely on edge, slightly more restless than normal, and he can’t keep his hands off Draco, which, Harry’s always handsy in public, not caring who might be looking or what they might see, but this is something different.

Draco’s wondering if he’s taken things a step too far, belatedly thinking that perhaps he should have _mentioned_ that he likes this sometimes before just sending a package of very expensive lingerie without any explanation at all, when Harry suddenly hisses and stops in the middle of their path, grabbing Draco’s arm and reeling him in close.

“Yes?” Draco asks, bemused, winding his arms around Harry’s waist. Harry is pressed up against him, and his hands drop automatically to the small of Harry’s back, his fingers brushing lower, and—

Oh. Merlin. He can feel a scalloped edge of _lace_ under Harry’s robes, and Harry’s squirming in his arms and panting _take me home please Draco_ in his ear, and Draco Disapparates them back directly into his bedroom, Statute be damned.

“Fuck,” Harry swears. “I thought I was going to _die_ if you kept me out for much longer. Do you have _any idea_ what these feel like, Draco? I’ve been half-hard _all night,_ and then you sit there talking about how you’re glad-handing all these rich people for _my charity,_ like you don’t know how hot you throwing your weight around like that makes me, and then you insist on a _walk_ —” He drops his head on Draco’s shoulder and pulls him closer. “Driving me insane,” he says, voice muffled. “I wasn’t sure, but—Merlin, I get it now.”

Draco’s hands have drifted down to Harry’s arse, palming and squeezing, and he can _feel_ the knickers under the robes, can feel where they cut off, just above the base of Harry’s arse, and he pulls Harry into him, rubbing them together as he hardens in his trousers. “Are you even wearing anything under these robes?” he says, shocked at how low his voice already is.

Harry shakes his head into Draco’s neck, and that’s _it,_ Draco absolutely _has_ to see. He steps back and rips Harry’s robes open, ignoring the buttons flying all over the room and Harry’s squawk of indignation. “I’ll buy you another one,” he promises, but as he gets a good look at what’s _under_ the robes, he has to stagger back and sit on his bed, staring.

Harry is _stunning_. He feels a little self-conscious, that much is obvious by how he shifts from foot to foot, but the lavender lace is _divine_ on him.

Draco’s eyes are stuck on Harry’s trim little waist, made to look even tinier by the cut of the knickers, which are low on his waist and show both his prominent hipbones and his erection—these are designed for women, and the bulge of Harry’s cock, a damp spot darkening the fabric at the head, is utterly obscene.

“Do you—” Harry’s voice breaks, and his hands flutter around his hips until he hooks one thumb in the waistband, tugging them down just a bit. “Do I look—okay? Is it…”

“ _Fuck,_ ” Draco pants out. “Harry. You look incredible. Turn around.”

Harry does, arching his back just a bit to push his arse out even further, and oh, the knickers start just below the dimples on either side of his spine, and the fabric lays over his arse like a _dream,_ cutting off just a little higher than the bottom of his cheeks, and Draco thinks he might actually be drooling.

He’d bought these on a whim. He had absolutely no _idea_ it would turn out this well.

“Draco?” Harry’s voice is worried, and he’s peering over his shoulder, and picture that makes is just too much—with a growl, Draco’s on his feet and pushing Harry face-first into the wall, dropping to his knees.

Harry yelps, then moans as Draco bites his arse, then whimpers and presses back as Draco pulls the knickers down, tucking the back under his cheeks and squeezing them as he pulls them apart. He mutters a quick cleaning spell, one of the few he can do wandlessly (Harry had laughed when he learned what Draco could do without a wand; who’s laughing now), then licks him from bollocks to hole before he starts eating Harry out like he hadn’t just had dessert less than an hour ago.

After just a few minutes, Harry’s shouting and pounding on the wall, pressing his arse shamelessly back into Draco’s face—he _loves_ getting eaten out, loves when Draco sticks his tongue as far into him as he can, would (and has) gladly spend hours coming over and over on Draco’s tongue and mouth and fingers until he’s shaking and shivering and crying for Draco to stop. Draco’s never met a man who loves this quite as much as Harry does, and he’s happy to oblige, but after a while, it’s clear Harry’s approaching orgasm much too quickly, so he draws back with some reluctance, pulling the knickers back up over his arse and delivering a quick _smack_ to each cheek, watching his arse jiggle.

“Draco,” Harry whines, but he turns around when Draco manhandles him, slumping back against the wall, panting and rock-hard. The head of his cock is poking over the waistline of the knickers now, and Draco’s mouth waters.

Harry threads his hands into Draco’s hair, not pushing or pulling, just holding, and Draco glances up—Harry’s eyes are burning as he stares down, and his whole torso is blotchy and red, and Draco has to fumble his trousers open and grasp the base of his cock to keep from coming, because Harry’s thick, masculine torso and his chest hair and the _lace underwear_ are a lethal combination, and he’s dangerously close to the edge himself.

He reaches forward and pushes the head of Harry’s cock down so it’s fully encased in the knickers again, then licks a long, wet stripe along the lace, moaning at the texture against his tongue. Harry’s fingers tighten in his hair, and his thighs tense. Draco digs his nails into them for support as he laves his tongue all over Harry’s cock, dampening and darkening the fabric, pausing occasionally to suck at the head through the lace.

Draco’s going to think about the sounds Harry’s making when he wanks for the rest of his _life_. He pushes his trousers and pants down and takes himself in hand, stripping his own cock as he sucks down Harry’s shaft. His other hand drifts around to the back of Harry’s thigh and slowly sneaks up under the fabric until he’s able to slip one finger into Harry’s hole, which is still wet from his earlier attentions.

Harry’s nearly howling, now—Draco imagines that the lace must be just rough enough on his prick to zing pain-pleasure through his nerves, just the way Harry likes. His hands are convulsively opening and closing on Draco’s hair, and his hips are shifting, like he doesn’t know if he wants to thrust forward into Draco’s mouth, or back onto his finger.

Draco noses the waist of the knickers down enough that the head of Harry’s cock pops out again, and as he takes it into his mouth and sucks hard he crooks his finger and presses down on Harry’s prostate, and that’s it. Harry nearly doubles over as he comes into Draco’s mouth, gasping for air, and the sharp tug of his fingers in Draco’s hair is enough to send him over the edge, too, and he comes all over the floor.

Draco swallows, then pulls back, collapsing onto the soft rug, panting. Harry wiggles out of the knickers and joins him on the floor, pushing and shoving until he and Draco are tangled together.

“So…” Harry breaks the silence. “You liked them, then.” It’s not a question, and Harry’s voice is smug.

“Hahhh,” Draco says, scratching his nails down Harry’s back, smoothing his other hand over the goosebumps that brings up. “You brat. Yes, I _liked them,_ if we’re in the mood for understatements. Did _you_? I’m sorry, I should have talked to you before I just sent them, I wasn’t really thinking, I just…”

“Saw them, and thought of me,” Harry finishes, voice soft as he squirms closer, breath hot on Draco’s neck. “I was surprised, I have to admit, but...well. I think you saw how hot it got me, once I gave them a chance.”

“That means you’ll wear them again sometime, then?”

Harry sighs. “Yes. But I’m going to have to plan ahead a little better, next time—no six-course dinners and walks through the park, _Merlin,_ I wasn’t kidding when I said I was about to come in my pants in public, it was torture. How do women _wear_ those?”

Draco chuckles. “They’re not...exactly an everyday pair, Harry. More meant for special occasions, at home. I have to admit, though, I quite like the idea of you squirming your way through an event with those on, with nobody the wiser.”

“You great bloody perv,” Harry says affectionately, pinching Draco’s nipple. “Of course you do. I’ll think about it.”

Draco’s back is getting sore on the floor, but he feels so warm, with Harry sprawled half on top of him, stubble scratching his skin as he rubs his face along Draco’s neck and collarbone, that he thinks he can lay like this for just a bit longer.

**Author's Note:**

> the tumblr post for this fic is [here](https://bonesliketambourines.tumblr.com/post/631647608315822080/kinktober-day-10-in-stitches).


End file.
